


A Haze of A Memory is the Softest Form of Comfort There is

by KathPetrovaDiary



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Hospital, Hurt & Comfort, Lost Love, M/M, Tragedy, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathPetrovaDiary/pseuds/KathPetrovaDiary
Summary: André wakes up in a hospital with Jean-Eric by his side.A scream. His own name. A thud.Three sounds that haunt him and he doesn’t know why.





	A Haze of A Memory is the Softest Form of Comfort There is

**Author's Note:**

> Not my usual style, but it came out when I was writing it and I guess I had some feelings bottled up.  
> You know me, always writing some tragic story for my OTP’s XD
> 
> Enjoy reading!

A scream. His own name. A thud.  
A scream. His own name. A thud.  
A scream. His own name. A thud.   
It repeats itself over and over in his mind, making his ears ring. That voice, calling out for him so desperately… He recognizes it. The thick accent, the way his name rolles of the person’s tongue. It’s someone very special to him, but he realizes he can’t quite seem to put one and two together. He wants to remember, he feels like he has to.

He opens his eyes, but has to shut them immediately. The bright white hurts his head. He tries again, albeit squinting this time. It takes him mere seconds to recognize his whereabouts. Hospital. Fuck.  
He tries to remember what could have gotten him so beaten up, he ended up in here.   
A scream. His own name. A thud.  
It echoes through his mind like a sharp sting and he can’t control the whimper escaping his lips.  
“André?” The word sounds from far away.   
A scream. His own name. A thud.   
The rythme blocks out everything else.  
“André!” It has gotten closer, combined with a pressure on his arm.  
“André, you’re scaring me.” He is shaken out of his state and opens his eyes to be met by a familiar face. His breathing is rapid, chest aching painfully.  
“JEV?” He breaths out as his blurred vision picks up the features of his teammate. He notices the concern in the hazel eyes before being pulled back into the dark.

A wrecked Porsche 911 is smoking in front of him and he can’t tear his eyes away. As if he’s forced to watch, forced to endure the pain of losing something he adores. His skin begins to itch, a layer of sweat forms on his forehead. He goes over his arms, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. The itch becomes painful. André looks down at his arms, and sees his skin sizzling. The breath is knocked out of him as he feels his flesh burn. He bites down hard on his lip, tasting metal. He tries to control the pain. He no longer can’t. A blood curdling scream escapes him.

André jumps upright in the bed. Immediately reaching to touch his arm, only to find them covered in bandages.  
“Mon amour?” He turns his head at the voice. Wide-eyed, he stares at JEV.   
“Wh-“ André closes his eyes for a second, trying to even his breathing.  
“What happened?” His voice cracks and the compassion grows visible on Jean-Eric’s face. “Darling, what are you talking about? You’re fine.”  
André frowns at that. “My ar-“ He looks down only to notice that the bandages are gone. His arms are healed. “But, I swore…”  
Jean-Eric smiles sadly at him. “Go back to sleep, mon amour. You need rest.” The Frenchman places a soft kiss on top of André’s head, lulling the man back to sleep with soft humming.

“André!”   
JEV! André spins around trying to detect where the voice is coming from. It sounds close yet so far.  
The wreakage reappears and seems to be the origin of the calling. “JEV, I’m coming!” André runs but it seems as if he’s never going to reach the Porsche, as if he’s been hold back by a strong force. “André please!”   
“No, JEV…” The wreck explodes and André is jolted back into reality.

“Schatz!” André feels a single tear running down his cheek, but he doesn’t know why. It was only a dream, not reality…  
“André?” Jean-Eric takes a hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m here.”  
André smiles tearfully at the man he loves. “You always are.”   
Jean-Eric winks at him before standing up. “I’m heading home once you’ve gone to sleep. Max needs some food. He misses you.” André’s thoughts go to his dog. He misses the big pup. “Kiss him for me.”   
The Frenchman snorts at the request. “I will. I’ll take the Porsche, okay?”  
André’s chest aches at the word Porsche, but he can’t remember why. A headache forms and he feels the need to close his eyes again. “Be safe.”  
“Always am.”

A thud and the sickening crunch of metal reaches his ears. André turns to his right, noticing the wreck of his beloved 911. He runs towards it, but suddenly the wreck disappears.  
André remains in the dark, silence surrounding him. He feels trapped in his own head. He wants to escape but he has the feeling he can’t. As if it’s a metaphore. That there’s a reason why his mind is keeping him in the dark.  
“André, I love you.” It’s JEV. A crackle of light enters through the darkness and André can’t help but follow it. Everything to see JEV again.

“JEV!” He’s sitting upright. Loud voices surround him but none of those belong to his beloved.   
“Mister Lotterer, finally you’re awake.”  
A man says flately. “Took you longer than expected.”  
André shakes his head, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. A nurse reaches out to halt him. “Mister Lotterer, you can’t just get up after being comatose for days.”  
“Where’s JEV?” André asks, voice louder than he thought he would be capable of. “Mister Lot-“   
“Stop calling me that and piss off.”  
André jumps off the bed, going towards the door but a sharp sting in his side halts him.  
“Mister Lotterer!” The nurse tries but he bites through the pain, leaping through the door.

“André?”  
A familiar voice, but not his amour.  
“Sam?” The small blond stands in front of him. Dark circles under his eyes show the tired state he’s in, but they are wide at the side of André out of bed.  
“Where are you going?” Sam asks putting down the pair of flowers he’s holding on a nearby chair. Where those for him?  
“To find JEV. He’s getting some food for Max.” Sam’s face saddens.  
“Oh André.”   
The German is tired of being held up. “I need to go.” He wants to push past Sam, but the smaller man grabs him by the arms. A cry of pain escapes André. Sam releases him instantly, before guiding him to the chair.  
“André,” Sam doesn’t know how to begin this conversation and it’s getting on his nerves. “JEV’s not at home.”  
“Then where is he?”  
“André, you have to remember. The Porsche.” Sam trails off, finding the courage to continue. “The crash at your place in Nivelles.”  
A scream. His own name. A thud.  
It all makes sense.

André lays in bed, trying his best not to throw up. The mattress dips and André feels a hand touch his shoulder.  
“I’m here.” JEV.  
“You always are.” André coughs, turning to look at the love of his life.  
“Sucks I had to be sick on our week off.”  
“Yeah, but don’t you worry. I’ll always be here.” André smiles, pressing his face against the soft skin of Jean-Eric’s hand.  
“I’m getting some food for Max. I’ll take the Porsche, if that’s okay?”  
André simply hums in agreement. “Be safe,” His voice cracks.  
“Love you, mon amour.”

André’s tosses and turns in his bed, missing Jean-Eric by his side already.  
He hears the roar of the old timer Porsche 911. He grins, adoring the familiar sound.  
It suddenly cuts off. A thud. André jumps up, resisting the urge to puke, walking toward the large window that overlooks the house its drive. His Porsche. A Rover.  
“JEV…”  
André runs down his staircase and out of the house quicker than his feet can carry him. He stumbles, slipping over the snow and ice formed in his front garden overnight. “JEV!” He yells, voice hoarse.  
“André?” It’s Jean-Eric but his voice is soft. “I’m coming!”  
“JEV!” André runs towards the wreck of the Porsche that’s curled around a tree. The Range Rover has driven away. Hit and run.  
André grabs the door of the passenger seat trying to tear it open but the metal doesn’t budge.   
“André, I’m scared.” Jean-Eric whispers, stuck in the driver’s seat, blood trickling down his face.  
“You’ll be fine.” André tries to smile reassuringly. “I love you.”  
André smells the oil and by instict he pulls back. The Porsche 911 catches fire, exploding seconds later with a bang. André’s blown back by the force of the explosion. He lands with a thud in a heap of snow. It takes him a moment to find his bearings, head slighty bleeding from the hit against the pavement.  
“JEV!” He screams, crawling back towards the burning wreck. He takes a hold of the door, still pulling at the hot metal. The flames burn the skin of his arms, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He wants to save his love. André pulls back when the pain slowly overwhelms him.   
“JEV…” He whispers as his vision blurs before he passes out in the snow.

“André?” Sam pulls him in for a hug. Tears falling down his cheeks as the loss of his love hits him.  
“JEV,” He whispers as Sam tries to comfort him.  
“It’ll be alright, André. I promise.” Sam replies, putting on a brave face.  
“JEV…” They remain like that for a while as the team of nurses and doctors watch silently behind them.  
“JEV, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
